


warm exhale and gentle hands

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s04e03 97 Seconds, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Self-Destruction, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Wilson panics when House purposefully endagers his life.





	warm exhale and gentle hands

**Author's Note:**

> i got emo about 97 seconds and got this out.
> 
> for badthingshappenbingo with the square 'bedside vigil', trope-bingo with the square 'celebratory kiss' and hc-bingo with the wildcard square, which i used for 'near death experiences'.
> 
> enjoy!

Wilson is sure that those ninety-seven seconds where House is legally dead are the most terrifying of his life.

He watches in terror as a gurney comes in, carrying House’s unconscious body. His hand is a bit burned. He sucks in a breath as he runs towards him, eyes wide as he follows the nurses who are doing his best to take care of him. No one questions his presence there, as much as they should’ve— he’s not being a doctor right now, he’s just being a concerned best friend. If he wasn’t a doctor there, they would’ve scorted him out until everything was sorted out.

“His heart’s not beating,” one of the nurses says.

He sinks onto the couch, a sob leaving his mouth.

They defibrilate him. Again and again and again.

Wilson stares, terrified, mouth dry. What if House dies right there and then? What if the love of his life dies before he can say anything about what he feels? About what he’s felt? What if House dies? What will he do then, where will he go, how will he cope? His heart shrivels up in his chest as he keeps looking at the doctors and the nurses as they do their job in such a hectic way he can’t keep track of it all. He wishes he could help, but in the state he’s in he knows he’d kill House.

“He’s back,” another nurse says, a sigh of relief escaping her.

Wilson has tears slide down his cheeks, as much as he tries not to let them fall. He whimpers as he stares, the sound of the heart monitor making everything seem so much better. But House’s hand and the fact he knows what happened— Amber rushedly told him about the fork as she left, clearly disturbed— makes it hurt all the more.

He manages to shift the blame into himself quick enough. He told House to see for himself when he was rattling on about that suicidal (well, not exactly suicidal, just— a near death-seeker, whatever) patient. And House took it to heart and that’s why his heart didn’t beat for a good minute and a half. It’s not the fact House is already self-destructive, no— in his brain, it’s never been House’s fault. He knows that’s bad, his therapist has told him that enough, but he just can’t stop being so empathetic towards him.

Towards his best friend. Towards his love.

He stays on the couch. It seems like hours, House still being unconscious for far too long. He reaches for his unharmed hand without thinking twice, gives it a light squeeze before pulling away. A mere minute or two afterward, House is blinking awake, his mouth down into a tight expression of pain.

He tries to keep up being angry as he talks, but God, he’s just so happy that House is alive. He can barely think as he holds up the chart, looking at it from time to time. House clearly is in pain still, from dying for a minute and all of that. It makes him sick, to think about why House is just so reckless all the time. He’s so damaged— sometimes he just can’t blame Cameron for wanting to fix him through love.

House closes his hand and then opens it back up, wincing and grimacing.

“Just looking at you hurts,” he says, clenching at the chart. “I’m going to order up some extra pain meds.”

House looks up at him, his look completely blank. “I love you,” he says in such a factual way it makes him warm inside out.

Before he can resist it, he leans down to kiss him. 

He tries not to prolong it, but it’s difficult with how long he’s wanted to do this. It’s just a few seconds, but House is kissing back— and God, House is kissing back. It’s a celebration, in part, really— House is alive, and House apparently likes him back, apparently, allegedly. 

When he pulls away, House is still grimacing, but his eyes are glinting with something. With affection, perhaps.

“We’ll talk about this when I’ve ordered the meds, alright?” he says.

House huffs. “If you’re going to start something then finish it.”

“I will just in a second,” he says before going to stop a nurse, telling her to bring more pain meds for House, before she nods and leaves to get it.

He goes back and sits down on the couch once again before oferring House his hand. For a second he thinks he’s going to scoff, that he’s not going to take it, that he doesn’t care, but soon enough he’s leaning in to take his hand.

“So,” Wilson starts, clearing his throat. “I think this was, uh, a long time coming.” He looks intently at his hand in House’s, still not able to believe that he’s alive and that he seems to like him back. To love him back, even. The thought makes him warm from head to toe.

“Yeah,” House agrees. 

There’s an indefinite pause, the silence seeming to drag on for far too long.

“Will you pop the question or do I have to do everything myself around here?” House teases.

Wilson tries to man up. He swallows, still looking at House like all of this might be a dream he’s having to deal with the fact he’s dead. But no, House is alive, House is there, House is smiling at him and House is okay and House wants him. House wants him. 

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” he asks.

“You sound like a fucking middle-schooler,” he says goodnaturedly as he pulls him into a kiss with his hand. “Of course, babe.”

Wilson laughs a little. “Oh, shut up. I’m nervous, okay?”

“Yeah, I kinda did just almost die. Would staying in my bed help?”

Wilson blushes hard at that suggestion. He’s always wanted to cuddle House, to touch him, to know he’s there and alive and breathing and loving. He smiles. “Of course,” he says. “Let’s just wait until people aren’t checking on you.”

And that time comes, eventually. He’s not discharged, not yet, but nurses stop coming along for the night. He stands up and smiles at him.

“Make some space,” he says softly and House obliges, scooting over. He takes off his shoes and gets on the hospital bed, quickly wrapping his arms around House’s middle, humming. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” he says. He swallows thickly and rests his head on House’s shoulder. “It was… the worst ninety-seven seconds of my life.”

House turns to kiss him, a silent apology in that press of his lips to Wilson’s forehead.

He thanks God that House is alive, that House is his, that he’s cuddling with him right now on his hospital bed. He couldn’t ask for more.


End file.
